Extra: A God, Looking for a Chair

“I’m looking for someone.” Iora never thought such simple words could scare her. The other receptionists cowered underneath the counter while she braved death straight on.

And today was going so well…

Iora Marmot had worked as a receptionist of the Adventurer’s Guild for the last seven years, ever since she turned three. Now that might seem strange, but it was quite usual for short-lived races. Everyone lived for about a hundred years, reaching adulthood at fifteen, but that would scale differently depending on their race. For marmots, every five years of life equated to only one year passing. Meaning, at just over ten years, she was about fifty race years old, or r.y.o. for short – already halfway through her lifespan. Of course, there were ways to extend that, but she never bothered with any of them. Iora was more than satisfied, enjoying her life to the fullest.

Today began like any other day. The alarm clock woke her around six in the morning, so she could start getting ready for work. It didn’t take long to get dressed, but she checked in the mirror to make sure everything looked right. The receptionist uniform for the Adventurer’s Guild sported a simple blouse whose color represented their status within the guild – Iora’s was purple – and a brown skirt affixed with suspenders. Black stockings and flats covered their legs and feet. Finally, a golden pin carrying the guild’s insignia was pinned to a green crop jacket.

At first glance, the uniform wasn’t that astonishing. However, when worn, it had effects akin to magic. Young women had a more mature and intelligent appearance while older women looked much younger, as if they were indefinitely in their prime. For Iora, It made her look like she was still in her twenties, barring the wrinkles of course.

Grabbing her bag and a piece of jam toast, she headed towards the guild. It was still dark outside, but that was normal for Winter; Geluzon, the first sun, wouldn’t rise for another few hours. The lunar field spiraled across the sky, keeping the town dimly lit. The only people out at this hour were other guild workers heading to their jobs. The clientele wouldn’t be up until daybreak.

It didn’t take more than ten minutes to reach the Adventurer’s Guild. Iora gave a quick hello to the receptionists on the night shift before getting to work.

First, she added any new quests to the board that had been submitted the day before. Quests were essentially odd jobs which ranged from babysitting or finding a lost pet to exploring new dungeons or fighting beasts. Quests of a similar rank were placed next to each other: None, Apprentice, Novice, Proficient, Expert, Specialist, and Master. Adventurers preferred to use letters to represent their rank since it was easier to remember: F-rank for None, E-rank for Apprentice, and so on up to A-rank for Specialist, and S-rank for Master. Why ‘S’ for the highest rank? Supposedly, that was the favorite letter of the adventurer who came up with this ranking scheme.

The other receptionists – wearing a green button down or blouse, representing their junior status – started coming in around seven thirty after Iora finished checking over the tools. Iora only had to supervise while the rookies handled the adventurers, so she took a seat at her desk behind the counter, reviewing the backlog of paperwork. After all, paperwork never, ever, stopped.

Around nine, the adventurers started coming in waves. Hundreds, if not thousands, of fights broke out as the adventurers fought over which quests to take. There were also those who fought just for the fun of it. Occasionally, a fight would get rowdy enough that the receptionist had to intervene. But you know adventurers: they didn’t always listen, especially those with massive egos. Whenever those kinds of people ignored them, there was only one thing to do: a good punch to the gut or a kick to the gonads. Receptionists were as strong as B-rank adventurers inside the guild building thanks to a magic tool.

The rookies handled their posts admirably. There were a few things they couldn’t handle, but Iora usually stepped in and took over in those situations. Most of the time though, it was just adventurers complaining about their pay in one way or another. The gut punch or gonad kick worked wonders in those instances too.

Today, Iora decided to take my lunch break around noon: two sandwiches and a glass of water from the employee's lounge. There was still a giant stack of paperwork to go through, but she could finish it up in a few hours.

She was about to take another bite of my sandwich when a scream came from the counter. Iora immediately rushed out of the lounge, but as soon as she turned the corner, her body froze in place. Sweat dripped down, struggling to breathe. Usually, that meant an A-rank or S-rank adventurer was showing off their strength by releasing their mana, the source of all strength in this world. At worst though, the mana should only make your skin feel uncomfortable or itchy. This was more of a primal fear, telling her to turn around and run away. Only one group of creatures could do that: Gods.

Just because two people were the same rank didn’t mean that their strength was equal. One would always be stronger than the other. The same could be said for S-ranks, with the strongest among them given the title of God. When the top S-ranks were about the same strength, the God title would change creatures almost every year. Some examples are the Sword God whose swordsmanship could slice space, or the Fire God whose Fire Magic could turn even the strongest metal adamantite to ash. However, this amount of mana likely meant the God was of the latter category: one whose strength remained uncontested for hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years. These Gods were considered calamities that could destroy the world. After all, who could oppose them? Once, a country warred against the God of Disintegration Magic, only to be obliterated in a single instant. It was like the country nor its ten million inhabitants existed in the first place.

It took everything Iora had not to obey her instincts. If she could barely hold my composure, the rookies were way past that point. The guildmaster was currently out on business, leaving only her to deal with it. So, fearfully, she inched towards the counter.

When she arrived, all the rookies were hiding. Some of them held their legs, muttering to themselves. Others hyperventilated, their faces a pale white.

The adventurers weren’t doing much better. Only two or three parties managed to keep their cool, but their hands and legs were still shaking. Of course, Iora wasn’t any better; however, she had a job to do. So, she turned her attention towards the walking calamity.

That first impression left her dumbfounded. Most people assumed that a God of calamity would look battle worn and terrifying. Scars would dot their body with a few fingers or an eye missing. Their clothes would be flashy and egotistical, making a show of their abilities. Whatever weapon they used would be on full display.

This woman was nothing like that. If anything, she seemed like a normal, twenty-year-old noble. Her features, which were already quite beautiful, were accentuated further by the sleeved, off-shoulder, laced black dress she wore. Her long, curled black hair flowed as if an invisible breeze passed through. The heels on her feet echoed throughout the entire building with every step she took. No weapon adorned her side, meaning she had no need for one. That was the most terrifying. The sea of adventurers parted as she walked past, but she didn’t spare them a single glance.

At some point, the God had grabbed ahold of Iora’s shoulders, jostling her vigorously. Did I pass out? Her irises, changing between a myriad of colors, reflected Iora’s fearful figure. She must be even stronger than I imagined.

“Back with us?” She flashed a beautiful, terrifying smile.

Iora tried to collect myself, but, “Y-yes, how can I help you?” she stuttered the entire way through.

“I’m here to get an ID. They didn’t exist the last time I was here. The town guard said this was the place to get one.” Identification Cards, or IDs, came into existence only five hundred years ago. There were plenty of races who lived longer than that, making it quite likely that many people wouldn’t have one. As such, those without an ID could obtain one by visiting any of the guilds in town. They uniquely identified a person based on their mana and were supposedly ridiculously secure, but that was the extent of Iora’s knowledge. Almost everything besides the ID’s ability to store information was considered a global secret. It made sense that a God of calamity was at least that old.

“O-of course! We can do that for you right away!” The god’s mana made it hard to work, so Iora asked if she could do something about it.

“Huh?” She cocked her head to the side before looking around. Her eyes widened as she hit her head against her palm. “Oh, one minute.” The woman took a deep breath, pulling in the mana she emanated. With it gone, Iora could move around freely, though her wariness remained. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks. Give me a moment so we can go through the process.” Iora reached into one of the drawers under the counter to grab the necessary papers and tools.

“Wait. Before you do that, I need your help with something else.”

“What would that be?” Iora could feel herself going limp once again as the god’s expression grew serious. She wasn’t emanating any mana anymore, but even without it, the god’s strength was unparalleled. Iora instinctively gulped, awaiting her next words.

“I’m looking for someone. A…friend of mine who works out of this guild. I was wondering if you could help me find him.” A friend of a God of calamity? And he’s registered with the guild? There’s no way that can be true. He’d need to be at least an S-rank, but the Adventurer God is nowhere near as strong as this woman. However, she seemed so sure of herself, so Iora had no choice but to work under the assumption that there was someone here who fit the bill.

“I see… What does this friend of yours look like?” Iora pulled out the record keeper: a magic tool that had up-to-date information on every registered adventurer. It made no sense to ask for his name since it was likely an alias. However, she should be able to recognize him based on his features and then use the record keeper to locate where he last took a quest.

“He should be in his thirties by now, though I can’t imagine he looks a day over twenty. He has white skin and wavy, dark-purple hair that almost looks black. Although it looks like he wears a black tuxedo and light blue undershirt, it’s actually his armor. He even puts on a dark red bow tie and white gloves to sell the look.” It sounded like she was describing the guard of some noble or butler, not an adventurer. However, for some reason, Iora felt like she had met this person before, a long time ago. It was on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you know what kind of weapon he wields?”

“Of course, he’s the only person crazy enough to use one.” As soon as the weapon left her mouth, everything clicked into place. Iora knew exactly who the god was talking about, though she only remembered him because of his odd personality. He had helped her a few times when she first started as a receptionist. His smile was kind, but his attitude was pretty obnoxious. He didn’t look that strong, but he could dodge any attack thrown at him. He wielded his weapon dexterously as if it were an extension of his body. Yes, there’s only one person it can be.

After a quick search through the record keeper, Iora found his entry:

Name: Stu Isu

Occupation: Adventurer (C-rank)

Weapon: Chair

Last Quest Taken: [REDACTED] (Tengah Capital Branch; 4 days ago)